You’re Not Wrong

We dreamed this page,
This poem on scenes—
Plum shades in snow,
Sun on the cliffs.

Whole old worlds hide
In such small words—
Gold flowers of dawn
Bloomed on iced grass.

I have to go
To work, you laughed—
Brand new worlds sprawled
On harsh new terms.

Who has the time
To find old scenes
Drawn in blurred words?
We’re not your dreams.